Sinister: How to survive a sore throat

[MyMomSays at xxx.com]

Dear Sinister,

    I'm sorry I've been away so often, Sinister, I've been quite busy with 
school and work and all that jazz that seems to interupt my frenzied Internet 
addiction. I've been quite jealous of the West coast comrades for being able 
to enjoy all these wonderful B&S shows, and not only that, but Juicy Lucy and 
I discovered yet another reason to be jealous of the Seattle 
listees--according to Carson Daly, we should all be seething with jealousy 
because those lucky Seattle folk get to see <gasp> Alanis Morrisette and 
Pearl Jam ALL IN ONE NIGHT. Let me say, I was up all night daydreaming about 
the possibility of flying to Seattle in one hurried, frantic huff, glazed 
over by fandom for Mr. Edward Vedder.  
    Just to say, my Jaw was a little bit on the ground when I read a certain 
listees post about how she didn't care for "the guy that opened for B&S". I 
was shocked, I will not lie. How could one regard The Legendary Jonathan 
Richman as just "a guy", and also, juxtaposed with a dislike for him and his 
music? It's appalling, let me say. I won't lie. 
    But that's just a side note--on a regular note, the real note, I have 
been enjoying the company of a certain Ms. Lucy Alder throughout this 
weekend, my first proper Sinister mini-picnic, and it has been grand--on 
Friday night we drank gin and tonics and debated as to who was the worst 
dressed in the joint, as a balding man with a mullet serenaded us with "Joy 
to fishes in the deep blue sea.... "... he stumbled by us, staggering, and 
said, "I'm sorry, I'm drunk."  I appreciated his honesty.  The weather has 
been representin' in regular Colorado style, bipolar, confused, always carry 
an umbrella--it's rained heaps. Even started to snow.  I love the feeling of 
the sunshine on my face along with a startlingly cool breeze filtering 
through the windows. 
    Last night I took it upon myself to complete a difficult task--I was on 
the drive home from Denver, the lights approaching on the other side of the 
highway visible from miles and miles away, blurring together to look like one 
enormous light hurling itself through space--the radio was playing some 
vague, familiar hits, including an acoustic set of Better than Ezra (I had no 
interest. Can you blame me? I switched it off). My sister was in the seat 
next to me, snoring lightly--all of a sudden, I tried to imagine every person 
I have ever known and what they were doing in that particular slice of one 
moment--My friend Ian milling around his apartment looking for soap for which 
to wash his feet, Nicole asleep, clutching her teddy bear--Sebastian on his 
drive home from the mountains, Lisa and Sarah asleep, they too snoring 
lightly--my parents, two mounds of mashed potatoes under piles of blankets, 
SportsCenter blaring from a vacuum of silence--and even some of you Sinister 
folk that I can only be forced to imagine because I have never encountered 
your friendly faces--an early English morning and Ken Chu engaged in 
consuming glistening cans of Red Bull--Kirsten Kenyon being awoken by her dog 
jumping on her bed with wet paws--it becomes so difficult, so time consuming 
to try and imagine this, but at the same time, it just slithers by like a 
carousel of slides, one after the other, next, next, click, wait, go back...  
it's like my mind stopped even trying, these images just entered my 
mind--sort of like how Ray suddenly thinks of the Stay Puft Marshmallow man 
in "Ghost Busters". I simply wasn't even trying.  
    I guess what I'm getting at is this; you may not have been thinking of me 
last night, around 12:30 midnight, but I certainly was thinking of you, 
Sinister.

Love and dog-eared paperback novels,
Mandee May
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 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+  "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001   +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
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